Prosaic Forgotten Realms – The Guild - Vudash Hexenwahn
by Wayward AMP
Summary: OLDIE-revival: Vudash Hexenwahn, thief & witch-hunter, plus my own choice of characters, inspired by Forgotten Realms, including Video-Games & Movies. Not withholding the kind of legendary duel of two parodied big-shots, and my unique Cook Monte. Mentions Book of Vile Darkness topics. Please read my profile on "Pietroschek-Prose" first. And know; a grammar patch is intended ASAP.


**Vudash Hexenwahn – The guild of Baldur's Gate PREVIEW US_FFnet**

Adult fan-fiction with a twist © Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

**For mature readers! Mocking undertone, sex, crime, and depravity included!**

**Updates & alternates may come ASAP.**

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><p>Based on my „Appetizer" for the NWN module „Thief Prelude" created by TSP under use of Biowares ® &amp; ©Neverwinter Nights. Screenshot included with the hint Bioware back then allowed such. This REMAKE is inspired by playing "Baldur's Gate-Dark Alliance 1&amp;2" though.<p>

Name-changes due auto-correction...My mentioning of people, companies, and institutions, as their works, is no challenge to their trademark, or copyright. My text deals with a long established, fictional game for entertainment, legal money making, and contemplation purposes only.

A common exception is my retaliation against people who tried to threaten, sabotage, or harm me, or my works, in ways which are illegal, disgusting, or clearly against all facts. Oh, that previous sentence is supposedly secret.

Any resemblance to real world persons, Drizzt 'Do'Urden by R.A. Salvatore, or institutions is unwanted, and mostly accidental. This is a fantasy short story, no social criticism, nor agitation.

Dear readers, in this text we will venture into the nightly side of the imagination. The story is about a small thieves guild. Set in a realm, where there is sorcery, where undead dwell and druids can do magic with nature and animals. Evil is neither less competent nor less omnipresent though. When asking Vudash then the law is evil!

With special thanks to the people accepting me as Group member in Dungeons&Dragons Online. .com

All characters and happenings mentioned are intended like subplots to the main-story, Egyptian deity invading BG, or parts of the aftermath.

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><p><strong>Vudash Hexenwahn - "Anreise"<strong>

Vudash was a half-orc in his 21st summer. As for many others of his species the stigma of his birth was not always pleasant. He was declared a monstrous, and criminal, psychopath the moment he got tucked from mommas womb. Orcs, dear readers, are really sadistic, and brutal man-slayers, who celebrate their cruelty. Vudash had to add something to this heritage though. He was a 'Taffer' who had a balanced confidence, a clear mind, and a certain talent for …the other side of the law. Due half-orcs like Vudash the city guard would stay in business without any worry about lack of missions.

Vudash had cultivated his passion for fun, sex, drugs, and minor not so legal activities in recent years. He was on a journey to reap the fruits of his investments by now. The thieves' guild of Baldur's Gate had accepted him as a member. Breaking out of the squalor of a grudgingly tolerated tribal culture, and opposing the constant menace of racism, whenever he had not to evade the minions of the law.

Vudash looked forward in anticipation for the guild. He learned early that in his profession every spoken word came on one left-wisely-unspoken, as one between the proverbial lines.

Vudash didn't start his journey naked though. He had his reinforced fur armor, a shoddy crossbow plus bolts, and a well-balanced dagger with him. His agility, and training with the blade, would convince more than one footpad, or highwayman, to strategically retreating. At the thought of cutting the face of some human scum-bag he couldn't fully hide a rather orcish grin. Vudash was aware that the real threat was not due criminals mostly. He had earned his name in the tribe for a reason. Vudash was no sorcerer, but he had a real instinctive talent for using their magical staffs.

Few of the spell chanters could do it better. He could activate this eldritch magic from scrolls, and so he started his career as a witch hunter. _**Vudash argued this sounded so much better than the evenly true statement that he broke into (burglarized) houses, towers, and lodges of wizards, warlocks, and witches, just to steal their stuff!**_

In bad nights he had been caught doing this, and cutting a warlocks throat is better than being cursed, or tasting the steel of the guards oneself? Vudash had the muscles, and temper, of a half-orc, yet he couldn't duel with a real warrior either. He was talented, but not yet really experienced.

It did cost him some weeks of wandering to reach the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, short before nightfall. Hexenwahn held his eyes open for an inn. He was tired, and then

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><p><strong>Lydia Wisteria - Another call to duty<strong>

Lydia Wisteria was in the 21st summer of her life. She had finished her education, as a crime scene investigator, and served her years in the city guard. In her family that was, what all expected. Walking the cobblestone on patrol, and living in a world of testosterone craze formed her normalcy for five and a half year by now.

She had survived the usual overdose of sexual harassment, attempted rapes by her superiors, and even all, which the criminal underworld had unleashed so far. As she was talented, and dedicated, she had become a sergeant early after her education was finished. Now she faced consequence. While her achievements would demand her to become an officer soon, her denial of sexual demands made her superiors disagree compulsively.

If not for the help of different temples, she might have lost her respect for academic corruption, as it was. Lydia walked the streets to make her rapport.

She was to reinforce the guard in one of the less noble city quarters. Logically, as she had not prostituted herself for preferred treatment. It was common lore, that the city had its recurrent clashes between the so called guilds of thieves, assassins, and smugglers. Others, like the guild of beggars, worked more politically-minded, holding a useful, though smelly, and occasionally diseased, state of neutrality, as selling information to all who paid was simply their way.

Lydia prepared herself for the mixture of servitude, loyalty, and duty which her new task, depending on the officer she had to serve under, would most probably demand.

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><p><strong>Dryzzt Du'Orden – An urban ranger destined to be<strong>

Dryzzt, the legendary half-drow longhair street-cleaner, and trash-can emptying champion, was walking the streets of Baldur's Gate. He knew the energy flow of the city, and had mastered living with it like few others.

To Dryzzt the rats scudding through the alleys were signs of animal friendship, the smell of urine, vomit, and faeces was just a perfume few could appreciate, and the brutally low payment was a test of his spiritual strength to endure it. Logically there was a secret he kept.

Dryzzt was on a mission! His arch-enemy, best nemesis award and such, namely Artemis Entreat, the notorious beggar-bowel raider, and copper-piece thief, had a plan. Dryzzt, being heroic, and responsibility-bound, to thwart the vile schemes of his dark counterpart instantly destroyed his own noble-title, gave his riches to the poor, developed a drinking problem, and took a drug overdose to disguise as the burned out wretch harshly holding his own as a street-cleaner.

Indeed, his genius, and dedication, were part of what made him a living legend. Just last night he allowed himself to be raped by three diseased drunken beggars, not because of a psychological disorder, but because he decided to keep his fighting prowess secret, thus making it harder for Artemis to expect him here.

Now that he was contract bound to clean the area around the apothecary, and the temple healer, especially well, compensating his inability to pay for balms and potions, he felt one crucial step closer to his goal. It was, as if the final showdown with his nemesis was a decree of fate, or a wish of the gods by now.

If he would survive, then he could clean the streets until he was able to hire a bard who would sing of his achievements to house, and clan Du'Orden, his family, and beloved proverbial roots.

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><p><strong>Artemis Entreat – A villains' master-plan<strong>

Artemis had always been a proud Aasimar woman, and rightfully so. She was a believer in divine justice, and had worked hard, to restore what was taken from her family by the hands of an insane mob. Cursed be house, and clan, Du'Orden!

Even after the family estate was long burned down, and even after justice was re-installed, those insane pests haunted the Entreat family on, and on. Her love, integrity, and loyalty had been tested once too often. Artemis learned that revenge is just another name for restoring justice. She learned that the brutal way.

After being raped, beaten, and left for dead by a gang of Du'Orden thugs she was forever banned from the sacred temple of the holy virgin. And her hypocrite social surroundings, instead of helping her to heal, expected her to become a harlot willingly back then!

She could feel it was all wrong, and she did not surrender. She knew one day the last Du'Orden would be brought to justice and she unleashed her righteous fury, fighting back against a world, which had betrayed her brutally.

Indeed she was Artemis, and she was punishment, and death! She practiced her skills in the gutter, not allowing herself to be too squeamish, for raiding beggar-bowels, backstabbing drunkards, or even murdering harlot,s and their customers, for the small change, or the cloth, and cheap jewelry they had on their bodies!

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><p><strong>Simian Mennonite – A Warlocks' Treasure<strong>

Preparation is precious. Especially, when one purposely confronts the vile, and the wicked. Lessons like such came intuitively to a sorcerer. Practicing them was actually easier, due the law-enforced years he had spend in a monastery. Discipline, and patience, were often lacking in arcane magic users. Same was true on sanity, yet Simian, as well, appreciated the martial arts training he had received, as it bolstered against the notorious weakness of his profession.

The Mennonite family has been engaged with a patron-cult of Demon Princess Rhyxali through the ages. Their family tree may have even spawned forth from a seed "she" planned to get planted.

While most clergy, and plenty of devil-worshipers, had serious problems with that, he never could complain. Maybe the monastic years had made him less compulsive about being seen in public. Especially, as camouflaging his aura wasted ingredients worth two hundred gold coins each time.

Now he once more paid tribute. He could call it lucrative slavery as well. For in the end, the Mennonites were mortals, while their patron princess at least had a definite unholy longevity. It mattered not! She assigned missions carefully. Only on grounds dedicated to her was communicated at all.

All mortals have a reason to shun torture, yet spells of revealing truth were actually more danger to the cause of her abyssal mind. The competition came twofold, and aplenty on occasion.

This time it was simple once more. Simian would neutralize a warlock who served a kind of political adversary of the princess, and was allowed to take-over his worldly belongings in the process.

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><p><strong>Neva Yield – The rise of Neva Yield<strong>

In one of the familial residences of his bloodline Neva Yield was contemplating his path to victory. Intrigues, Schemes, and Betrayals were simply the languages, and currencies, which poor people had their problems with. Not so Neva Yield.

The tendentiously asexual crusader of selfish greed, and luxury-craving, was on a mission. His latest masterpiece had begun to impact the city, and balefully so. To win a bet in one of the secret private clubs for the privileged, Neva Yield had sworn to prove one of his many proclamations.

Are the majority of people defeatist wretches, who are too busy worshiping their self-pity, and normalcy, as that they could prevent insane evils from being repeatedly unleashed against them? Of course Neva knew they are. That was, how his family had become nobility.

For using pride as a tool he made up a music play, and founded a band. The band was artificially created, four wretches in it. Each of them born in incest, each of them an army-deserter, compulsive liar, diseased bum, and criminally insane! Neva Yield knew, that some propaganda alone would make thousands of deranged fools pay to worship them nonetheless.

Neva knew as well, that forming an army of malcontents, and his expertise in rebel-rousing, would pay off even more later. As that mob would be a plausible suspect, whenever Neva had to get rid of one of the so called "allies of convenience".

Social Scandals were a form of entertainment to many people. They often were a handy facade for more sinister matters just as well. Neva Yield had decided, that it was time for Neva Yield to rise. The city complied, like any decently trained butler had to.

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><p><strong>Vudash – Dawn of a new day<strong>

His first night in Baldur's Gate was full of good sleep on a small bedroll for Vudash Hexenwahn. Seemingly half-orcs never got the real comfortable beds in their proper size.

Vudash awoke before the roosters cry. His ears had caught the sound of wooden bowls. There would soon be breakfast, and as he had some silver coins left for it, he prepared to indulge. Pie made of grain, and vegetables. Vudash found it tasty enough, and grunted happily.

Burping, and farting, were taboo, when in presence of others. Humans, and elves, were only reassured in their hostile prejudices due such misbehavior. Same was true on scratching this itch between the legs in front of others. Women rarely appreciated it either. And, if Vudash was about to jump into the bath, his intention was not to stay there in solitude.

Vudash knew, where his appointment had to be made, and was still intimidated enough not to steal within the city before he contacted the guild. He was already on the way, so what? Diving into a smaller street he started to look for the cellar entry. Today the virtue of patience was with him.

He had more than the luck to be unnoticed. The stairs down to the cellar door were trapped with some simple devices. For rogues it was obvious that what could be deadly surprise to others, was a nice gift to the competent. Seemingly there was a bliss of generosity in the streets of Baldur's Gate. From a half-orcs perspective. He would have to work a week as rat catcher, or laborer carrying rubble, to earn that much. Vudash picked the lock, and entered carefully.

Vudash was just through the door, when he made his first contact with Soppy. Soppy was a halfling with a certain charm. Vudash stated his business, and was welcomed friendly enough. Soppy showed him around, and gave him a quick lesson on the codex of conduct.

The halfling seemed much too friendly for his dark leather, but Vudash knew that more than traps could deceive the eye. He never had any personal contact with halflings before, and, as far, as he knew, pure-blood Orcs took pleasure in torturing, and eating them. Soppy didn't seem to be a coward to him. For someone who was just big enough to bite Vudash's belly that seemed worth noting back then.

Vudash and Soppy spend a while testing each other in practice. They compared their talents and tricked each other however they could. Vudash was talented, for many young rogues such nonsense had ended with mutilation, or premature death.

Disarming an acid trap while doing pranks? Few could say this truthfully about themselves.

If rogues by their very profession would not have such a dire allergy to publicity the bards could add some sharp-witted lines about the argument if it is a half-orc dagger or a halfling short sword at Soppys' belt.

Soppy introduced Vudash to "peg leg" later on. The dwarven guild member worked grudgingly as a merchant for weapons and armor here since an accident did cripple his leg.

For Vudash this remained information, he lacked gold. But Soppy saved his day. Pointing at three chests in the main room he said:

„These are for training. If you manage to get them open the loot is yours. If you get hurt doing it, we will just watch you suffer though. You are welcome, but incompetence we cannot afford to continue. Think about it, none here care if you do it or not. If you are hot for the gold, go and take the risk."

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><p><strong>Lydia Wisteria – Five cells left to fill<strong>

„Sergeant Wisteria, accept your orders. You will prove your worth by filling those five cells with some of the most wanted villains our city has to suffer!"

„Sir, Yes Sir!"

And so she started. First was the orientation and information gathering phase. After all she needed to know, why she was after whom and how she would get them nailed.

Additionally raising the public awareness came helpful, so she invested a week to make her guardsmen and guardswomen approach the populace the friendly way again and again.

Lydia was too energetic to enjoy playing spider lurking in her web, yet she knew, that public safety had to come first.

Hopefully at least one of the wanted Gutterpunks would give her an excuse for a Razzia or Guard-Sweep though. She was sure, that her new Captain would not win an award for the most hearty welcome.

Yet that was fine with her. She could respect people who focused on making the job to the best of their abilities much easier, than with the spoiled rich brats who considered violent crime would instant-surrender if they just posture and quote oh so academic.

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><p><strong>Dryzzt Du'Orden – The case with the bum and the Grove <strong>

Valiant and upright, like all great heroes, Dryzzt cleansed the streets. It was once more in the poorest area, that the miracles of life awaited him. Dryzzt felt his senses, trained by years of duty, activating!

The half-drow was again at a Nexus of Destiny! One moment he cleansed Cobblestone and the next fate itself called him into an alley. Revealed, as if a magic cloak had just been pulled back!

To those in his profession it was no secret, that poverty was a root of evil. It inspired depravity, despair and criminal actions. The people in this forsaken part of the city had long started, to make vermin and wanderers their meal.

Rat-Stew was even sold in the measly pubs which somehow survived for a while here. Hopefully it was Rat-Stew Dryzzt thought. Yet for now his fine tuned senses and honed reactions were active.

Dryzzt subtly switched the grip on his well-made broomstick and approached the revelation before him. Between decaying infrastructure and rot his senses made out a sacred place of Druidism or Druidry.

Somebody worked here, to make the sacred powers of life remain, opposing decay and rot! He fought his way through one more dungeon level and comforted the valiant Druid by allowing himself to be sexually abused once again...

Sacrifice always means giving or losing something we hold dearly, Dryzzt knew. Evil attempted to sacrifice others for the own cause, yet besides all vile and corrupted powers, evil repeatedly trapped itself in such misconceptions.

Much like a dangerous child of the gods which reacts with violence and treachery instead of learning to handle the own deficiency. By that evil damned itself, it needed no deity for that. Consequence is a power nobody is immune to.

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><p><strong>Artemis Entreat – More Schemes &amp; Smuggling<strong>

What does a proud and smart woman do, when given two thugs and two thieves to command? Besides being raped by them is meant! A woman like Artemis instantly opens a new pipeline. From her drug crazed and traumatized vision is forged a better reality!

While she was taken by the criminal scum, luck helped her out. She saw it clearly, as if a born visionary. Pain was the blinder, self-pity the trap. Her vagina and butt hurt for sure, her nipples were swollen, too.

Yet Artemis was the one woman who still survived the wrath of all the gods and devils and demons unleashed against her! And she knew, how to command. The brutes fell upon her thinking her prey and nearly she had believed similar.

Not any more! The desolate place was optimum for her plan and so, once her mouth was free, she lured the brutes into servitude with a promise which no spell could have outmatched!

"Serve me and instead of copper you will all earn one silver piece per week at minimum for the rest of your lives!"

When Testosterone does not cloud their thinking, then thugs and thieves perceive promises of money much like faithful people feel during religious experience. The brutes expected a whining wench yet there she spoke with the voice of an angel of profit.

The thugs and the thieves worked on her command while Artemis invested her groups last money to start her newest criminal enterprise. She had her own secret self-made gate out of town, camouflaged and guarded, ready for service. Both, the guild of thieves as the guild of smugglers instantly knew, that her offer was worthy.

Artemis received patronage and some gold coins per week for her secret pipeline. Later the guild of assassins joined in, making her earn 25 gold per week as she no longer had to send out empty wagons. Sometimes it was getting rid of bundles quite resembling humanoid shape, other times assassins needed a vacation.

After six weeks she still controlled her enterprise and had bribed up her sympathy value among the local populace which never saw or heard or smelled a thing! In her dreams she already sensed a time to avenge herself on house and clan Du'Orden!

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><p><strong>Simian Mennonite – 1st Household occult solution<strong>

A man of his word he has always been. Simian had camouflaged his aura and dared to go forth. He had fought his way through the warlocks' hideout as tradition and pact demanded.

Now he faced his adversary and by the sign of allegiance on his opponents clothing could he prepare. It was Mammon, devil-prince of greed, usurpers and deception.

With an eye-raise of surprise his opponent stated: "Rhyxali, that shady little bitch?"

Crackling, born of a blasphemous invisibility their first spells clashed. Mind-Controlling the opponent into instant-defeat was mutually no option though!

Unholy energies battled each other on demand of the two egos spell-casting them! Both aimed, to breach the foes defense or distract the adversary long enough, to land a killing curse or dagger-stab!

Pride took its toll though. Wearing their allegiance so to say upon their sleeves, both had a comparably clear estimation of which spells the other could cast without spell-components.

So it came, as it had to come. Showdown with blades, fine vile vampiric dagger versus fine corrupted vampiric dagger. The Warlock was no fool, well versed in the fencing style of his tradition. Simian though had the training of his cult with the blade and supreme unarmed combat skills.

His victory obvious he still was a man of the mind. "Yield and serve the princess, thine own potential is admirable and deserves better than to be wasted!" Similar due Simian's surrender to Mammon came as reply.

Bruised but more agitated than submissive due pain the Warlock bit his tongue, defiantly fond of mimicking such an offer for Mammon and his cause just equally convinced.

Both cultists paid some more blood before Simian stunned his foe with a powerful punch which he quickly followed with a stab through the eye. Disabling the brain is a good though in this case sadly final choice when it comes to arcane magic users.

As his victory brought bitterness and gain at once, Simian prepared the candles and ingredients. He would fulfill the rite of dedication to the princess now and then start plundering his new piece of property later.

After drug indulgence, as the loss of formidable assets always made him feel as if Hell was dumber than its celestial competition!

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><p><strong>Neva Yield – Deception &amp; Paranoia = delicate weapons?<strong>

Assets, agents and servants. These useful pawns, like all other lesser creatures on the Chessboard of Neva Yield, were born or created to be used and abused on whim. Such privileges of the upper classes were tradition after all.

Of course there were the occasional propaganda backlashes and petty attempts of the competition. The Indebted Solution Program created by Neva was discredited as Prostitution, Forced Labor and supporting Human Sacrifice! How presumptuous.

Somehow money had to be made and there was no evidence, that Mind-Flayers purchased debtors to devour their brains. Maybe the Illithid nobility wanted clean rose gardens, proper house-care and polished boots, like all other nobles, too.

It was far more than just ridiculous, to perceive the joyfully detached spirit of Neva as alienated and evil! His efforts were demands of law&tradition, to ensure, that all knew and respected their proper social standing and the duties to society.

Yet again he had to endure it. The ignorance of the masses failed to come to terms with his genius of an idea, that children of indebted parents should gain the privilege of prostituting themselves to pay back their family debt to society. What weird perception, or was it envy? Did the other poor folks envy those child-whores?

If Neva wouldn't be burdened with such dire call to greatness he would hide behind the scenes, gray eminence, much like his grandfather had done it. Now he had to rely on divide&conquer strategies instead. The cruelty of the common folks was really a most improper reaction to his dedication.

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><p><strong>Vudash Hexenwahn – Lure of the Witch-Trap<strong>

Vudash had heard the words through an icy-foul mood that befell him. The first chest, he sensed it for sure, had an especially weird trap. That was the energy that witches, crones and hags had in their aura! That was unworldly evil. The lock itself would not be much of a problem.

To Vudash it seemed as if his deepest fears rose up to sabotage his struggle with the witch-trap. This trap was dangerous.

The slightest mistake and he would feel all strength sucked from his muscles and his life force drained away. Normally, so Hexenwahn thought, that was what happened when a witch gave one the eye. This evil eye was just more than a look of mortal eyes.

A powerful witch would look through enchanted glass and give you the eye from far away! Vudash focused on neutralizing the trap's mechanism again.

The dark night of the soul he had heard once. Vudash didn't know what was meant with that. His own imagination made up a pretty scary specter from it. He had bypassed the mechanism and finally heard the relieving click when the lock snaps open in literature. He withdrew his tools carefully and took a deep breath. Hexenwahn took the time and effort to deal with all three chests.

When the work was done he began to appraise his loot. He got a fine studded leather armor, an imperial dagger and an obsidian magical ring. He couldn't grasp his luck. The risk had been high, but this would help him to increase his chance of surviving future adventures!

He was still on his first day in the guild and had earned around a thousand gold pieces. His greed and his realism forged an unholy marriage of impulse.

Hexenwahn decided, to keep his lightweight fur armor for now and sold the studded leather to peg leg. His old blade was sold, too. The ring now was on his left ring finger.

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><p><strong>Lydia Wisteria – Off-Guard<strong>

Raised and disciplined in a dutiful and hard-working family Lydia had a well developed instinct for the ways of a woman. "Gallantry aside child, it is wife or whore soon." echoed the words of her father in her mind.

Lydias' parents loved and respected her. In no small part due to the fact, that she had always worked to earn the respect and that familial love was mutual. Given the disillusioning and cruel revelations her profession had to live with, one could say she was quite a woman for burgher standards.

And while the rights were established, the majority of people was too dumb to think more distinguished than what her father had summarized to prepare her. She was a confident woman worthy and ready to choose her own husband indeed.

Yet marriage should be for life and a balance between career, love and self-respect is surely not the easiest equation to handle. She was henceforth investing a lot of time spend in the "Laws Lantern", the pub owned by an ex-guard Captain and frequented nearly exclusively by guards and informants, to build a list of suspects.

Suspects for her Love and devotion! "A true marriage is only ended by Death!" a priest had told her. "Don't fear fate, forge your future in its beneficial lines." a famous bard once advised her. So Lydia had a 1st list in her mind.

Almond Venison. A man with blonde, long hair and blue eyes she stared into nearly meditatively. He was owner and instructor of his own fencing school. A proud and cultivated man, free of perversions, who knew rapier and longsword. The type who could live with a woman in martial service and would be a good choice if she became officer soon.

Ernst Potherb. A bald man with brown eyes. Ernst was acolyte when Lydia was a girl. Now a streetwise-priest who preached that surviving poverty is better than just suffering it. His goddess demanded no celibacy and he would be a man who would not get instant-divorced, if Lydia was to lose an eye or limb in the line of duty.

Guile Pendent. A man with black hair and jade-eyes. A bard and entertainer who shared in her occasional rushes of Wanderlust and lust for Adventure. The most risky of the three though as well the only, who would leave it all behind for her, if she was finally sick of her job.

Her Ale tasted well and gave her some comfort. She still had some weeks to contemplate before the decision-making would become urgent. Back to duty!

* * *

><p><strong>Dryzzt Du'Orden – Magical Beast-Hunt<strong>

Unsung Heroes, even legendary ones like Dryzzt, had an aura about them. Henceforth it came as no surprise, that the populace called him for help. A great threat had descended upon their minds and Cobblestone.

Dryzzt was hired to solve the problem in the public interest. Straight after he cleansed the streets and emptied some trash-cans did he make use of his training in stealth and tracking.

The people were smarter than bards accredited them to be occasionally. It was indeed no vile imp with an invisibility spell or such. After some hours of tracking he had a clear trace.

Being a gifted ranger he didn't need much time to investigate the Bat guano he found. Bats are nocturnal predators who compensate their blindness by use of their own kind of echo-localization.

By all reports in this case the bat must be some kind of obfuscated loner which somehow ended up in the city. Maybe a wizards escaped pet or lab-rat. Or a curiosity show escapee.

Dryzzt channeled divine power, chanting softly as he began to radiate an aura of animal friendship. As the frightened and confused critter finally showed up, some others did so, too.

"Must be him, looks like him and has a broomstick."

"Thugs!" Dryzzt guessed.

"So lets earn our pay and plunder his corpse!"

"Hired Thugs!" Dryzzt realized.

Dryzzt had to sweat and bleed a bit as he was fighting through this nasty encounter. After all he had to hold upright his animal tranquillizer aura. When victory was finally his he perceived his luck. The bat was vampiric and had used the distraction, to feast upon a rat which was tranquillized accidentally as well.

Dryzzt knew who was behind it. The Entreat family for sure. Wasting no time he went to gather his pay and forth to make the bat a host in the discovered grove after showing it to the locals as evidence. When he entered the grove he was welcomed by a Celtic looking female in green-brown robes. The bat slept a satiated sleep while Dryzzt learned, that she was the Druid and last time she was away to brew cure for a diseased bum resting here.

* * *

><p><strong>Artemis Entreat – Learning is a path to victory<strong>

Observing from the shadows she witnessed, how wicked and thrice cursed Dryzzt Du'Orden sexually harassed a hypnotized vampire-bat precisely when the 1st wave of thugs hired by Artemis tested his skills and died for their own incompetence.

She was assassin enough to know plenty of ways to gut that waste instantly, yet she needed a politically-minded solution to enjoy her vengeance. After all her suffering and humiliation were not all, shaming house and clan Du'Orden and cleansing the Entreat name from false accusations were needed, too.

A broomstick? Horrible atrocities spooked through the mind of Artemis as she, knowing the enemy way, contemplated who the honorable healing-witch could have been whom Dryzzt must have poisoned, raped and murdered or eaten to steal this surely magical broomstick.

"Holy Virgin, bless the souls of innocent women come to harm!"

She shed tears while whispering her prayer, knowing her arch-enemy still close by.

"Justice! Punishment and Death in the name of the holy Virgin!" Artemis renewed her oath now, that a sole survivor of the insane mob which had forever wasted her joy was found due sheer random.

* * *

><p><strong>Simian Mennonite – Abyssal Genetic Engineering <strong>

Simian strode forth from his bedchamber. The symbiosis of carnal and spiritual had been successful he thought. Instances ago he had the most fateful sex of his life. Sex with an avatar or manifestation of the princess!

Neither love nor passion had much to do with it, though even in that his mate was gifted. This was like the exalted pledge of soul. More than a simple Soul-Pact, both in gain as in consequence.

The princess could now revive her loyal servant and gained his complete genetic code as a price for her part in the bargain. Simian harshly understood that in detail, yet from his perspective the princess gave him a great symbolic badge of praise.

Now he was more than even a regular cult-leader, as he was one worthy enough, to get an eye-blink time-span of attention from his patron princess and was known for it in her cults circles! At least mortals believe such, as if written by Viractuth.

Simian Mennonite, sorcerer-monk, half-shadow-demon spawn & cultist. One in a hundred cultists earned such status.

* * *

><p><strong>Neva Yield – Delusions only enslave the Unworthy <strong>

Minions and spies reported, what Neva already knew. His countermeasures were successfully applied in most cases. Failure was rare among the proverbial blue bloods anyway. Whatever fancy they took, instantly became the income for hundreds of people.

Even the four twisted perverts whom Neva catapulted upon a stage were celebrated as gifted bards! Astounding, that so few gods did congratulate him personally.

To score a political majority on decisive matters, Neva did not just rely on the nobility, which of course was the power. _The Altar & The Throne_. Nobility alone was born for greatness in leadership, be it mundane or spiritual. And Neva Yield was destined, to lead nobility, of course.

Neva really cared and henceforth worked hard, to make people celebrate his achievements perceived as fulfillment of their own wishes and expectations. Ensuring, that shiny trinkets and delusional daydreams were available for all who served his causes.

Needless to say, making his minions split public opinion to make him seem much more of a savior was another political routine. Only the simple-minded could ever be impressed by such petty maneuvering.

* * *

><p><strong>Vudash – Guild Internal by Half-Orc newbie standards<strong>

But the guild had even more to offer. There was the mistress of masks, selling disguises well made. The half-elf Tally was an archer and sold quality ballistic weaponry.

An alchemist had been hired by the guild, too. He sold potions, some even magical. Then he had his first chat with "the great Herald". This gnome was some kind of mage and sold tools of his trade. For Vudash that meant buying some magic scrolls which he knew how to use. Time passed by and the young half-orc scouted his new opportunities. Meanwhile he could gut-stab some training puppets and learn firing a crossbow.

He would spend his nights in the guild for now. He had by now realized, too, that this was a rather small outpost. Coming from the poorest suburbs of a tribal tent-town, he enjoyed this little luxury anyway.

The next morning he awoke when Soppy managed to leave a bleeding cut upon his skin. The halfling and his "long-dagger". Hexenwahn knew this lesson; he had a pretty deep sleep. Compared to his talents with traps and locks his awareness was mediocre at best. Drunk or drugged he would be easier to assassinate than those training puppets.

The new day brought along some new faces, too. The guild master Tiberius was present now and Nora appeared. She was a specialist merchant dealing mission based equipment on Tiberius' behalf.

Soppy summarized it in his own words: "Tiberius is not really one of us. The real bosses have hired him to take charge of the guild for now. Nora there is another class. You should treat her real friendly unless you get your jobs done with malfunctioning or none equipment. She only deals with you if Tiberius tells her to do so."

Vudash understood. He paid Tiberius a visit as fast as he got an appointment. It was not half as impressive, as the half-orc had expected. Tiberius was exactly what people accused half-orcs of being. Sadly, Tiberius was human, so one could guess that he reached this degeneration, disgust and vice due his own efforts.

Hexenwahn had to swallow that brainless cheek kissing counted more than professional work. Between the lines and unspoken he had already figured out his solution to the problem of unsuited leadership.

But work has to come first. His first assignment would be to retrieve some evidence from a local merchant. All necessary means were acceptable. The self-righteous dude seemingly boasted in public how he would turn the thieves guild in to the guards.

Vudash noted that to know anything about the guild the merchant must have some kind of connection to it. It being unspoken he knew not to ask right now. Watch, contemplate and learn.

Hexenwahn managed to unearth one real treasure while preparing for the task at stake. Nora swapped his fur armor with the so-called "suit of Baldur's Gate". This was light leather armor crafted especially for those of the rogues' profession. It was darkened, oiled and bolstered as with light metal bracers to allow blocking a knife. Vudash looked and felt better.

Being not really born for spell-craft he was fascinated to learn that Brubeck, mage of some order, had the power of teleportioning? He wouldn't have to sneak endlessly through damp and dark alleys; his first mission would start weird but comfortable. Vudash didn't really understand this, yet this may make for a good escape if the situation turns sour he thought.

The guild had taken care that the owner of the Flying Scimitar had a certain degree of pity and understanding for the guilds not any closer specified needs. Brubeck had done his fierce rituals in one of the back-rooms and could teleport a group or smuggled wares now to or from this spot.

Vudash had wished for Soppy as his companion, but was too sly to ask. Soppy had his tasks within the guild and would have offered his aid by now. So it had to go without halfling short sword or long-dagger. The guild had someone else for this role though.

* * *

><p><strong>Lydia Wisteria – A job well done<strong>

Market Day. Bustling burghers and peasantry enjoying their rights of commerce and the opportunities which come from such. Merchants happy and ever-vigilant versus foolish thieves. The guards proudly representing the emblems upon their uniforms and armor

It was a good day, work-wise. Lydia had accessed the gathered information and her lust for more action finally did not violate her duty. The smugglers had competed with some of the merchants too fiercely.

Their guilds main operations were anyway harder to camouflage, than that of thieves and assassins. It was a good opportunity to check, how disciplined and professional her guards were in addition.

Lydia had ordered them during the morning rapport, even adding hand painted pictures and maps to make it clear. The guards in uniform were on routine duty, like a decoy, while her own men and women went in disguise.

The smugglers had to hand-over their wares to one of the corrupted merchants to make money and Lydia had time on her side. Doing the deed in the public eye was more practical than bold from the smugglers perspective.

This time though, the sweep would strike true. Her own team had hidden weapons and the signal pipes other guards would recognize. Two of her disguised guards had followed the carts from the secret warehouse to the market though.

The trap was sprung on her command and after a minimal brawl all suspects were arrested. Now, not waiting for word to travel, she dashed onwards, taking guards along the way into service, to catch the smugglers mastermind.

Logically it was only the head of this operation and warehouse. Yet, for a guard sergeant, that was quite a work. Especially as its political meaning, guard-success in the public eye, always helped to remain well in the public eye.

The sweep hit the smugglers thrice. At the market the crew and merchant were arrested. At the warehouse stolen goods were re-conquered and on the rooftops the crew signaling warnings and commands to the smugglers got caught.

Lydia had planned well and she had not overestimated her troops potential and morale either.

"Nice that the lords and ladies above did not send us a complete waste, Sergeant Wisteria." More was not to get from her captain and truthfully, she long got used to the ways of the work.

* * *

><p><strong>Dryzzt &amp; Artemis – The <em>Broke-Back Fountain Inn<em> Murder **

Dryzzt: True Love, besides being this&that kind of a fever-dream, was a transforming experience. Dryzzt had met his lovely solace, as if by fates' decree. Gerald, the Witch-Watcher. And it was mutual!

Artemis: Selfish ignorance makes people rush into even the most obvious traps! Already trapped in their own delusions, they never sense the danger which is so obvious to others around.

Dryzzt: Both found, that their new mate had a special appearance. Both had not needed much words to risk their hearts and take a room in the Inn. Their urges guided them and time was on their side.

Artemis: Male pride in sodomy. The vicious pervert of the Du'Orden family really seemed entranced by getting laid with another longhair of similar build and posture. They were so busy distracting themselves, that Artemis had all the time she needed, to unleash her curses and rituals of revenge.

Dryzzt: Some moments are so special, that authors, artists or bards shouldn't even attempt to describe them. They would only fail. Soul-mates had found each other and love dissolved all barriers and obstacles!

Artemis: If it would have been her powers, then they would have targeted Dryzzt first. Feeling her magic falter, she had just prepared to use the traditional poison missiles, when it happened. The horny longhairs, slaves to their carnal compulsion, must have walked straight into a demon-trap.

Dryzzt: It was the weekend of their lives. Dryzzt would remember it, in secret devotion, for the rest of his life. He left to call a waiter, willing to spend half his savings this one night. He returned, to find how cruel an end love can find.

Artemis: But who's demon-trap? The monstrous longhair Du'Orden was just leaving the room wrapped in a cloak, when something ephemeral or infernal turned semi-visible and assaulted the pervert who was not above getting laid with a Du'Orden. To her it looked like justice, or did Du'Orden get rid of lovers that way?

Dryzzt: As he just came back into the doorway, Dryzzt saw the foulest bloody murder. Gerald was brutally taken from him. His corpse mutilated by what could only be described as a demonic gay-fiend! Castrated, slashed as if by claws and even his silken hair was cut. And then his eyes, sharpened due heritage and a life of thorough investigation and tracking, saw her clearly through the window.

Artemis: The soul-fiend Du'Orden had just returned into the room and seemingly pretended to mourn his whore. All a matter of self-presentation. Then, as if another betrayal by the holy virgin, he stared at her with eyes of hell-born fury. Artemis fired her crossbow when injustice again gave wings to her abusers!

Dryzzt: Far from holy ground and due blood of the elves or similar, he couldn't bring back his love from the dead. Yet one thing he could do. Dryzzt had not just accumulated fame in his years. He sacrificed a wish to make his broomstick fly. All he needed was a chance to reach Artemis, the nemesis who surely master-minded the demise of beloved Gerald!

Artemis: "Holy Virgin, I knew it!" Her bolt had only scratched the vile beast Du'Orden, delivering not half the poison, as luck betrayed her. As she had suspected, Dryzzt must have raided a sacred witch. As for one heartbeat she could not believe it, that the soul-fiend charged her, half-naked as he was, on the flying broomstick!

Across the rooftops of Baldur's Gate two personalities struggled against their own traumatized past, the twists of fate and their chosen adversary. Across three map-levels of rooftops went the most mutually unappreciated showdown-stalemate of that fateful night. Pain, Sorrow and Defiance making Artemis and Dryzzt mere puppets dancing a macabre, martial dance in the moonlight.

* * *

><p><strong>Simian Mennonite – The cook Monte &amp; the Murder-Case<strong>

Religious fervor is often called a virtue. In truth, as far as Simian could tell, religious fervor was much more often a form of insanity nobody dared to lock-away into an asylum! Envy and spite made him remember, how religious mobs assaulted deviants and independents alike!

On the afternoon of the day which later was connected with the Murder in some inn, Simian had visited a vicious adversary of sorts. Soup-Kitchen cook Monte was a moralist pamphleteer in his spare-time. As all he wrote was stolen from others, or outright taken from his mad delusions, he had become a pest to many cults.

Simian was just faster. Now Monte crawled on the ground, writhing in pain, still staring at his hands, which were shriveled and withered into atrophy by Simian with just one spell, merely a word and a gesture. "If she trades in souls, then she might bargain with sellers, dear Monte. Then there is her offspring."

Monte: *Whine*...*moan*...*bath in self-pity*..."Who?"

Simian: "And if the princess has no cult, how could I bless your hands in the name of her justice?" Enjoying his lie, as that spell he learned during a Dark Prince meditation. He raped Monte with a Soup-Spoon, to make it stick.

Monte: *Whine*...*moan*...*bath in self-pity*...Princess?

Simian: "Thanks, Moon-calf! Your tongue and eyes are begging for such abyssal transformation, too. Or call for her mercy and offer your soul to her NOW."

Monte: "Momma!" So Monte saw his own testicles presented in a hot frying pan.

Simian expected no less. People who agitate religion to assault other lifestyles rarely had any real understanding, nor faith or sense of self-preservation. Plenty were so craven, that they provoked the so called dark side as for suicide they lacked the courage.

Nearly gentle did Simian take hold of the cooks head. His sharpened dagger did finally cut his throat in a punishing rite his uncle once taught him. "I am not fool enough to offer unworthy souls to her." Tracks wasted due arson he simply left.

On his way home a street-urchin messenger intercepted him. All he did was making a sign. Simian knew it instantly. A servant of the Mennonite network called him forth.

What weird coincidence. Suspicious at best. Already on the way did he learn, that foul murder was, this time, not just to entertain the simple-minded. Bitching to himself he wasted the precious gold for extensive neutralizing of his aura once more.

When the guard nears and the public is alert, then it is better safe&poor than sorry on a pyre! He would soon need more income, perhaps as guild-mercenary once more.

The innkeeper of the Broke-Back Fountain Inn gave Simian the secret handshake in subtle routine. Simian saw guards already roaming upstairs. He readied his leather scroll-case on his belt and prepared his emergency gems.

Walking upstairs he addressed the guards-women closest to him.

"Greetings, I am Midas Simulacrum, an ex-apprentice of the mages guild. The innkeeper is a friend of mine. He said this murder may involve sorcery and I am ready to offer you my help."

"Stand back, citizen! Our sergeant will arrive soon, talk with her, Sir."

Simian did as told. Waiting and channeling more energy into disguising his aura and ensuring, that people will find it very easy, to forget details about his person.

"Sergeant Wisteria! The room is upstairs to the left and that citizen waiting there wants to speak to you."

Simian sensed the Sergeant approaching. Grateful that he had invested extra-effort into legitimacy and camouflage. That woman had two distinctive streaks in her aura, which made him wary. She was energetic and faithful.

Sergeant Wisteria further moved like a warrior. The blades at her belt were controlled by her hands while she effortlessly strode up the stairs. Giving him just a short nod she went to her underlings and started to gather up on the case.

Simian feinted more patience, played humbly waiting citizen. Finally the guard was through with the room and Simians' guess was proper, they had no guard-wizard as those were really expensive, reserved for the nobles quarter or merchants who bribed the guards well.

"Sir, you are Midas Simulacrum?"

"I am. An honor to meet you. Patel, the innkeeper, did call me as he had a suspicion about sorcery having to do with the murder-case."

Lydia's head swiveled downwards to the innkeeper who nodded reassurance to the statement.

Lydia: "And how could you be of help?"

Simian: "I am an ex-apprentice of the guild of mages. I can detect traces of magic and maybe I can even tell you about what style it was. This means..."

Lydia:" This means if it was sorcery you could tell us so and maybe even what type of arcane magic user we have to investigate after."

Simian: "Yes! And because of Patel I would not charge you any extra fee for it as well. After all I sincerely came to help."

Simian felt as if hit by a dozen ego-whips. On his last statement the Sergeant had used one of her innate holy talents. If she would have done it on him outside of context he couldn't know, if his camouflage would last even the blink of an eye!

"We can need your help, as it prevents that I call the temple on blind guesses. You can check the room, though tell me what you want to touch before you do it!"

Simian wondered, if his heart was trying to defy rhythm forever now. He had met a woman from the dreaded faction and she was law, too. He ventured into the room, investigating the crime seen from his unique perspective.

The room was a bonfire of magical emanations even as he was just starting his detection. Knowing that any lie could get him into dire, even eternal trouble now, he worked as a professional.

Hurrying, as he did not wish that sacred cunt to start thinking about him in dangerous details.

"Sergeant Wisteria, I am finished! Please come in." Once more lucky, as she was already watching his work from the doorway.

Simian: "Extensive magic was used here. The mirror opposite to the bed was enchanted or bewitched in some way. By the sickening and horrid emanations it must be some form of infernal magic. It has to do either with demons or devils, of that I am sure. You would be well-advised, to call for an expert on such, maybe from the temple you mentioned, or in case they lack such, the mages have a certain Doctor Hectare Valency who has a reputation for such."

Lydia: "How well-versed a mage must be for such crime? And what would be your personal guess about what happened here?"

Simian: "Your suspect will be a veteran infernal priest or summoner, nobody to confront haughty or unprepared. My guess? Somebody used the mirror to build a portal through which he summoned or channeled the actual agent of murder, maybe even using arcane spells to watch whom he or she hits and how they suffer."

Lydia finally understood the sickly look on the citizens face. Helping a friend, with such vile a heresy lurking, could turn even tougher stomachs.

Lydia: "Citizen, you have the thanks of me and the City-Watch. We call for experts and you can leave now. Please keep the information secret, causing public hysteria or panic is a crime. Farewell."

Simian: "Farewell, Sergeant Wisteria". He would make arrangements later.

**Neva Yield - NOT YET WRITTEN**

**Geraldine of Trivia – NOT YET WRITTEN**

**#**

* * *

><p><strong>Vudash – Fine drugs &amp; elven whores<strong>

Money was quite an invention. At least, whenever Vudash had enough cash, to enjoy they villainous way of life.

He had met with a dealer, a kind of legendary street-merchant, selling the powdered salts of Sniffy. Sniffy was a powerful narcotic made from plants. Alchemy claimed, its base structure was a type of salt.

Besides being a decent pain-number the drug actually was an ego-booster. It was, by that alone, highly addictive. Given, that to most it was the best experience of their life to consume it.

As a dangerous mission awaited him, he had decided, to enjoy himself once more. Half an ounce of Sniffy and an elven harlot named Shulurielle were his investments for the night.

They had both indulged some Sniffy and now Shulurielle was working his phallus with her tongue in greedy dedication.

Vudash loved elven whores. Something about their cultural background always doubled the joy for him. He had once, burglarizing an asylum, heard from a deranged wizard, may-hap his name was Suraman, that orcs were supposed to be the result of experimenting on elves.

That insane statement was so laughable, that Vudash gutted the wretch quickly, not getting angry at all. Orcs were the off-spring of the Demon-Prince of Orcs of course!

During evolution their unholy wings had diminished. The temper remained, yet orcs lacked any preternatural powers, as only the first orcs sired by the Prince still had longevity and similar unholy investments.

Still elven whores reminded him of that twisted statement in a way he happily paid for to indulge it.

**To be continued...? Grammar patching intended ASAP.**


End file.
